I woke up, and it wasn't very bright.
A vast, moonlit ocean stretched endlessly around me, darkness creeping into its farthest corners under a night sky so heavy it felt alive. At the center of the horizon, a small, lonely ship floated silently, silhouetted against an enormous moon that glowed like a celestial eye, spilling soft silver light through torn clouds. Stars scattered faintly above, like distant, indifferent witnesses.
The moon's reflection danced across the restless water, fracturing the waves into shards of silver. Snow-like particles drifted through the air—or was it ash?—blurring the boundary between sky and sea. Beneath the surface, the water deepened into a cold, unending blue. There, half-hidden, lay the outline of something sunken—a structure, perhaps a wreck, or a city long forgotten. It pulsed faintly, as though aware of my gaze.
Yet, despite the solitude, I did not feel lost.
I ran. My bare feet skimmed the surface of the waves, splashing silver droplets that shimmered like scattered stars. The water was cold, but it felt alive, welcoming, a playful companion. I leapt into the swells, laughing, feeling the freedom of it—the strange, unshakable joy of being alone in a place both beautiful and terrifying.
Then I saw it.
A vast castle—or was it a temple?—rose from the ocean like a dream shaped in stone. Its spires reached toward the heavens, broken rooftops allowing beams of moonlight to pour through, illuminating fragments of the interior with a ghostly glow. My heart thumped as I approached, though I did not know why. A strange pull, neither command nor thought, guided me toward it, whispering that there was something I needed to do. But what? I did not know.
I entered.
Inside, the air was cool and still, smelling faintly of salt and ash. Moonlight poured through the broken glass of the roof, fractured into a thousand shards that glittered like crystal rain. And then I heard it—a song, haunting and delicate, weaving into my mind like a dark thread.
I followed the sound, and there they were: tiny, winged creatures perched upon a moon-shaped fragment of the shattered rooftop. Dark fairies, their bodies like smoke and shadow, humming the melody in a harmony that was simultaneously beautiful and cruel. The moonlight bathed them in silver, casting faint reflections across the walls of the temple, and for a moment I felt as if the air itself was alive with their song.
And there she was.
A woman slept there, resting against the throne, as though even standing required effort.
I called for her and waited until her eyes opened.
She was still asleep.
I think she loves to sleep a lot.
I kept calling ma'am.....ma'am.
Until she wakes up.
And I was very happy to see her,hmhmhm.
But she didn't seem happy to see me, her eyes felt empty,cold, distant.
I wonder why.
Did I do something wrong ?.
maybe she just wanted to sleep more.
Or she was upset because I couldn't tell her my name?.
Then, just as suddenly as it began, the dream began to dissolve. The ocean, the fairies, the temple—they all faded, like mist under sunlight.
And I woke again.
Before me stood an old man, bathed in the blinding light of dawn. I could not make out his features; the sunlight was too harsh, yet his presence carried weight. He spoke, his voice deep, calm, but edged with the certainty of someone who had seen eternity.
"(■■■■■), how are you?"
"Yes… good. And you, *******?"
"Hehehe… good. Let me tell you something," he said, his gaze shifting in a way that felt like it pierced through my very soul.
"Dreams are not random," he said. "They hold fragments of memory, glimpses of things that may come, and shadows of things you will never understand.
"A sadist struggles to feel empathy. A masochist struggles to show mercy to themselves. Both are starved of kindness—just in different ways." "What do you think?"
I swallowed, unsure how to respond.
"Then kindness isn't something you are born with," he continued. "It is something you choose to give. One hurts others to feel powerful. The other hurts themselves because they think they deserve it. But both… are just people who were never taught how to be gentle. You must learn it, or it will never reach you."
"Do you believe in fate, *******?"
"Fate… is just the excuse people use when they are afraid to take responsibility. The path may be laid out, yes—but every step is still yours to take. If fate truly ruled us, regret would not exist."
His words reverberated through me like the echo of the ocean in that endless night. And then the dream shattered completely.
I awoke, my chest heaving, heart hammering like a horse at full gallop. Silence surrounded me, though my mind raced. My words, even if I could speak, would only make it worse, so I stayed quiet.
Strange dreams. Shadows are chasing me in the corners of memory. Figures without faces, appearing at random. I had been like this for… how many years? I could not tell. My mind felt fragile, stretched thin, haunted by fragments I could not piece together.
And yet, beneath it all, I knew one thing: I was awake now. I was nineteen years old. And nothing—no dream, no shadow, no old man—would ever leave me again.